Keeping Time
by thelittlegreennotebook
Summary: The deterioration goes something like this.


**A/N: My jilysecretsanta for the wonderful Annie (anniebrad4d)! I know I haven't posted anything in a while, but I hope this satisfies (now with the added attraction of not as many typos with which I submitted it!).**

_Keeping Time_

The deterioration goes something like this:

**+ 60 Minutes**

"How long do we have?" Remus asks, taking a long pull from the steaming mug of butterbeer.

"An hour," James answers distractedly, trying to flick a sickle in a perfect arc through the diamond formed by Sirius's thumbs and index fingers

"Do you know what you're getting her?" his mate prods again, and when the sickle bounces off the back of Sirius's hand James stops for a moment and sits up, stretching his back where it's tight from being bent over in rapt concentration.

"You have that look again, Moony," James notes, rubbing absently at his lower back and resting one elbow against the sticky wood of table, which is tucked into a booth in the back corner of the Three Broomsticks

"Look?"

"That disapproving I'm-a-Prefect-with-a-Capital-P look," James says, pulling his own mug up to his mouth and sipping at the scalding liquid.

"He always looks like that," Sirius notes, drawing a flask from the pocket of his robes and pouring a suspicious amber liquid into his drink. He holds it up to James, who rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"I don't," Remus argues, "but I think it's important to note that James has a date with Lily in an hour, during which they're supposed to exchange gifts." Here, he looks at James pointedly.

"We just finished winter exams, Lupin. I'm in no state to read between the lines."

"Well, do you know what you're getting her?"

James scoffs. "Of course I do. There's a scarf and hat down at that shop all the birds go to." Here, he smirks. "Emerald green."

There's a beat of silence and then—

"Bloody hell," Sirius snorts.

"What?" James asks incredulously.

"I've never even had a proper girlfriend and—a scarf and hat, Prongs? Is she the girl you're dating or your grandmother?"

"Hey!" James exclaims indignantly, but already a pit of nerves is curling in his stomach. "It's not like—we've only been dating a month! I'm not expecting her to get me anything extravagant o-or—"

"She's getting you Bloxham chasing gloves," Remus says flatly, meeting James's wide eyes over the rim of his mug.

"What?" James cries, his fingers gripping the edge of the table. "The _new_ Bloxham's? But those are—like, _really_ nice and—Merlin, I'm a tosser."

James is already grabbing his scarf from beside him and shoving Sirius off the bench before Remus even nods in agreement.

"Where're you going?" Peter asks.

"_We_ are going to find Lily a gift in the next…fifty-four minutes."

The other three blokes gather their things quickly, and Sirius tosses down an excessive count of coins down on the table.

"A _scarf_ and _hat. _You always were dreadful at giving gifts, Prongs."

"Shut it, Padfoot."

**+ 40 Minutes**

"I don't see the problem with jewelry," Sirius says, fiddling with a diamond necklace despite—or perhaps because of—the storeowner's admonishing glares.

"Yes, well, you wouldn't," James says, eyeing a pair of gold studs.

"Don't be a prick just because you mucked this up, mate."

"Sorry," James bites out bitterly, running a hand through his hair. "It's just—"

It's just that he suddenly wants this gift to _mean_ something, and he's both impatient to find the perfect present and angry that he didn't consider something more serious before. Lily obviously had.

Because the gloves…the gloves mean something more. Maybe this is only their second date, maybe they've only officially been a couple since November, but the truth is that they've been _together_ a lot longer than that. And perhaps James just didn't want to think too far into it, didn't want to invest himself more than she was willing to commit, but clearly he was just being a prize idiot.

It had been earlier that month when James confided to her that he didn't want to play Quidditch anymore—not professionally, anyway. They were standing on the top of the Astronomy tower when he had blurted out the confession, something he had never even told Sirius. That he was giving up his childhood dream, turning down the three professional offers he had received, to face the reality that the confusing battle outside the castle walls was very quickly turning into a war. So the next three Quidditch matches…they were very likely his last.

And he knew that the gloves—the expensive, top-of-the-line, newly-released, genuine leather gloves—were a tribute to that decision. She was making sure that he finished his too-short Quidditch career with nothing but the best.

And _he_ had seriously considered buying her a scarf and hat.

"It's just what?" Remus says, prodding James out of his thoughts.

"Nothing," James says quickly. "It's just nothing. There's nothing here she would like." _Nothing that doesn't scream empty sentiment filled with money. _But if he said that aloud Sirius was likely to kick his arse for sounding like a smitten prat.

**+ 20 Minutes**

"Get her a quill."

"A quill? _A quill?"_

"Wormtail, if you don't have anything productive to say…"

"Get her that lacey set, Prongs. A gift for her, but _really _a present for—_ow!_ Okay, okay, _Merlin._ So _touchy_."

"Oh! What about a peppermint quill? That would be good, right?"

James buries his face in his hands and groans in frustration.

**+/- 0 Minutes**

"Well…" Remus says morosely, glancing worriedly at James, who is holding an emerald scarf and hat set limply in his hands.

This time, when Sirius offers the flask, James takes a long pull.

"She's going to break it off with me," he notes. "It was great while it lasted, I reckon."

Sirius claps him on the shoulder comfortingly and Peter continues to trace patterns into the snow with the toe of his boot.

"You've got to go meet her. You're out of time," Sirius tells him, stepping away from the brick wall that they're all leaning against, defeated.

"Yeah, I s'pose you're…" James trails off, and then his head snaps up suddenly. "Wait."

"What?" Remus asks.

"I just…I've had an idea."

"How timely of you."

"Shut up, Black. Will you three distract her?"

"For how long?"

"An hour and a half?"

"You'd best be joking."

"Just…do it, all right?" James says, shoving the pitiful winter wear set into Sirius's chest and backing away from them, his eyes alight with revelation. Rather than heading back into Hogsmeade, though, he turns the other way and jogs down the alleyway. A few seconds later, they hear a faint _crack_.

"Did he just…? We're not allowed to Apparate during Hogsmeade visits."

"What in Merlin's name is he up to?"

"Well, I suppose when it came down to getting expelled or having Lily break things off, he chose the former. Of course," Sirius says. "Let's go find Evans."

When Lily Evans was a little girl, her father always carried a pocket watch. It was an elegant, exquisite timepiece, passed down by her grandfather and her great-grandfather before him. It was that which reminded Lily of her father most, and it was that which she placed into his coffin not ten months ago, in the middle of their sixth year at Hogwarts.

Lily does not talk about her father often. In fact, she's only really talked to James about him once, a month and a half ago. They were the last ones left studying in the common room, which, as Head Students, they often were. He had been sitting in an overstuffed armchair, head tipped back against the backrest, and Lily had sat leaning up against his legs. She was describing her schedule for the next day as she worked on a Transfiguration essay that wasn't due for two more days.

"I won't have time to work on it after tonight," she explained, resting her quill in the inkwell before hurriedly gathering all of her hair behind her neck. Rapidly, she started to weave it into a long plait, which James knew she did when she was feeling harried. He reached out to curl his finger into one of the loose strands, but she had blindly slapped his hand away.

"Tomorrow's my long day," she told him. "With a full schedule of classes and then charms club and then rounds. Plus the Potions exam—" here, he had groaned. _That's_ what he'd forgotten. "And the Defense practical. And I have to squeeze in tutoring between charms club and dinner, and I can't be late to that because Adrian is a little squeamish as it is—"

"Are you ever late to anything?" he had asked, because she wasn't, not ever, but it stressed her out all the same.

"No," she had told him firmly, twisting to face him as she tied off her braid. "Being late means you believe that your time is more valuable than anyone else's. You hold your appointments, and you show up on time."

"You would say something like that," he observed, catching her hand as it fell from the tail of her hair.

"I didn't," she'd said softly. She laced her fingers through his and turned fully, so that her bent knees were tucked between his calves. "My father did. He lived by it, practically."

He'd raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

"He always had this pocket watch," she'd continued, looking at their fingers rather than his face. "And he was never late to _anything. _But when I was little, before I came to Hogwarts, he read to me every night. He would come into my room at nine o'clock, look at his pocket watch and say that he could spare half an hour before he had a very important appointment with his novel and the fireplace."

James leaned forward and ran his free hand over her hair. Lily smiled softly. "But he always stayed later than nine-thirty—always. I never even had to beg to get him to stay. And when I asked him about it one night, why he never kept his appointment even though it was so 'disrespectful,' he told me that some things were more valuable than time—but only a very few, and that I should remember that."

After a silent beat, Lily had tipped her gaze up to meet his and shrugged a little sadly before leaning forward and kissing his fingers. Then, she had pivoted around and picked up her quill, scraping it gently against the rim of the inkwell before diving back into her essay. James had, of course, slid out of his chair and down beside her, taking out his abandoned potions book and pretending to study while keeping his shoulder pressed against hers. And that was that.

**- 120 Minutes**

When James finally arrives at the booth in the Three Broomsticks, Lily is sitting alone. Her back is to the door and her thin fingers are wrapped around a mug of steaming butterbeer as she gazes out the window. When he sees her sitting by herself, James's hurried steps slow.

"Lily?" he asks, and she turns her head to face him, her expression completely impassive. "What are you doing alone?"

It's a stupid question, and absolutely earns the glare she gives him, but he'd meant to address the fact that his mates are missing rather than the fact that he's effectively stood her up. He slides into the bench beside her instead of across from her because he's about to be fighting a losing battle and the best he can do is prevent her escape.

"Wankers," he curses. "They _said_ they'd stick around."

"And _you_ said you'd show up, so I think your stupid mates are the least of our problems."

James—the stupid, handsome prat—dares to smile. "'Our,'" he quotes. "You said 'our.' There's still an us, which means you haven't tossed me over."

Lily rolls her eyes. "Not yet."

"You're a lot less mad than I thought you would be," James comments, and it infuriates her that he can tell when she's not truly as mad as she's trying to be.

"And you're a lot later than I thought you would be, so should we do this?" she asks. "We only have forty-five minutes until the carriages leave."

James sighs. "Yeah, yeah, all right. Do you want to go first or should I?"

She just looks at him. "You've kept me waiting for two hours, Potter."

"Good point," James says, but suddenly his palms feel sweaty and his heart is beating faster. What if she hates it? What if it wasn't worth the two extra hours? He takes a deep breath. Nothing he can do about that now. He pulls out the tiny, square box from his jacket pocket and jostles it lightly between his fingers before setting it on the table in front of her. It's brown and papery with a gold ribbon tied around it.

Lily reaches out to take it in her hands and James swallows. Her eyebrows are pulled together like they always are when she's thinking. He knows she's not stupid. She's trying to figure out what could be inside a two square inch box that could keep him from her for two hours. Nothing negligible, he thinks. He just hopes she feels the same.

She sends him a little inquisitive look before pulling on one end of the ribbon, which falls away easily. Then the top is opened, the meager tissue paper stripped away, and she's staring.

She's staring and staring and staring and normally he can read her emotions pretty well—she's enchantingly expressive, even if she doesn't always voice what she's feeling. But now, when it's about something that matters, when it's something that counts, he can't decipher her reaction at all. So he waits, and waits, and when it feels like he's been waiting for an hour rather than thirty long seconds, he can't take it anymore.

"Lily? Are you…I mean, is it…is everything okay? I'm sorry if it's not what you were expecting. I-I know it's not an _exact _replica, but I tried the best that I could given that you've only described it to me once and…well, I saw it a couple of months ago, over the summer when I was in Muggle London with my mum, but you and I weren't…that's why I didn't even think of it until two hours ago. And then I went and the bloke had already sold it and it took _forever_ to find—"

"James…" Lily says softly, immediately stopping him from saying whatever he's rambling about. She takes the object delicately from the box and keeps staring. It's a gold pocket watch, an inch and a half in diameter and inlaid with thin, intricate designs across the back. It's clearly been worn with time, but the surfaces are polished about as spotlessly as possible, so the dim lighting glints spectacularly off of every curve. It's connected to a chain now, so as to serve as a long necklace. Lily doesn't wear a lot of jewelry, he knows, but hopefully if it's meaningful enough…

"I know it's not perfect," he manages, and finally she looks up at him. Lily isn't a girl who cries unnecessarily, but there are tears rimming her green eyes now.

"Yes, it is," she says, her voice quiet but firm. She can't seem to say anything else and she looks back down at the watch. "You—you definitely broke our price limit," she manages, a little accusatorily, but mostly with a tiny bubble of choked laughter. She's overcome with emotion—because of him—and he doesn't quite know what to do about that.

His shoulder tense at her assertion, though. He had forgotten all about the stupid price limit that she had declared many weeks ago. And he had broken it—he'd gone a hundred times beyond it to bribe that stubborn old man to part with the pocket watch. He's about to stammer out an apology, because nothing coherent comes out of his mouth when she's tripping him up like this, but then something occurs to him.

"So did you," he reminds her simply, and she snaps her neck over to look at him.

"I _knew_ Remus would tell you!" She says, all sentimentality gone from her voice. Then, almost to herself: "Dammit, now there's no surprise."

"Well, he had to tell me!" James counters. "I was—you're going to bloody well hate me—but I was _going _to buy you—"

"A scarf and hat set, I know," Lily says with a laugh. "They told me. It's why I wasn't too angry with you when you didn't show—Sirius has gotten good at defending you these past seven years." She sighs. "Well, here," she shoves a thin, flat box towards him. "Although they're a far cry off from your gift."

He shakes his head and hastily opens the box. The gloves are beautiful. They may not be the ghost of a family heirloom, but they are exactly what James wanted from exactly the right person.

"Lily, they're perfect. I wouldn't have asked for anything else." He tilts her chin up with his index finger and presses a sweet, lingering kiss to her lips. "Thank you. And I'm sorry for being so late. But I hope you like the gift." He voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "I would offer the scarf and hat as a replacement, but I think Sirius might have grown attached to them by now."

She smiles at him, a bright, winning smile that he can't help but grin back at. Then she shakes her head slightly and looks down adoringly at the pocket watch again. She clicks the timepiece open and then snaps it softly closed again before placing it around her neck and fiddling delicately with the chain.

"It's okay," she tells him. She leans up to kiss him quickly, so that he knows she means it. Time is an important thing to respect, she knows—but, as her father said, some things were more valuable than that. And James Potter was worth waiting for.


End file.
